


we are time's subjects

by spaztastix (panta_overlord)



Category: South Park
Genre: Cuties, Ficlet, Fluff, K2 - Freeform, M/M, just like me, kyle is writing at 3 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 18:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panta_overlord/pseuds/spaztastix
Summary: 「and time bids begone」That smile was not here today, and was replaced with green, frantic eyes and a pink tongue poking through his teeth.





	we are time's subjects

**Author's Note:**

> when you imagine me writing this, just imagine how kyle was doing on his script except he only took like ten minutes to write the whole thing

The clicking noise on the computer seemed as if it would go on forever. A lone boy sits at his desk, his fingers flying across the keys as if he knew them better than they knew themselves.

The open document was titled “cri”, as the poor, tired teenager had no better idea. After all, this paper had to be done by 7:00 am tomorrow, and he had started at 11:00 pm.

Before we do anything else, we must give the youth a name. After all, calling him “boy” so many times can be quite tiring. What shall he be named, oh let us think.

Perhaps we must know what he looks like to think of a fitting name? What shall we learn about him? The boy has a relatively short stature, only about 165 centimeters in height, 5 foot 5 that is, and curly, copper hair that he could never find the time to cut. A skinny figure and a nervous smile that always donned his face completed his look.

But that smile was not here today, and was replaced with green, frantic eyes and a pink tongue poking through his teeth

I will call this boy Kyle Broflovski. You may call him what you like, but be warned. Calling someone by something they don’t wish to be may warrant serious consequences.

And so the story goes. Kyle sat on the edge of his seat, furiously looking over his script, double, triple checking it, as it had to be _perfect_ or else he wouldn’t be perfect, right? Muttering under his breath, the words passed through his lips, “One more sentence here, a few grammar fixes there, and...” A shout was heard. “Voila! The script is complete!”

“Yo, keep it down, would’ya?” One of his roommates popped their blonde head into the room. “In case ya haven’t noticed, some people are trying to sleep at 3 am.”

And he knew. Kyle knew his roommates were sleeping, the blonde was just in the room over, but he had yelled anyway. _Disgraceful_. “Sorry about that, Kenny.” Kyle leaned back in his chair. “I finally finished that story I was writing.”

Kenneth ’Kenny’ McCormick let out a deep sigh, and leaned into the doorframe. “You had two weeks to do this.” He stated in that condescending ‘mother voice’ that Kyle had hated so much. Given the fact that Kenny almost never uses the mother voice, Kyle knows that he’s just as tired as he was.

“You know I can’t sleep until I know that I’ll get an A.” Kyle said back.

Rock solid argument, right there.

Kenny continued to stare at him, before yawning, and he reached a hand up to rub at his eyes. “Whatever, pal.” He said in an indifferent voice, before walking over to him and sitting down on Kyle’s lap in the chair.

And the curly haired boy blinked once, twice, before opening his mouth to say something. However, the blonde cut him off before he could say anything.

“You’re tired.” he says plainly, and Kyle can’t exactly disagree. “A set of new eyes would do yer paper good.” That’s Kenny talk for ‘I’m not going to get off until you let me get a sneak peek at your book.’

So Kyle let him read. Kenny was smart and good at writing, and his expertise would really certify that he would be getting an A on this.

Besides, it’s not like he really minded the feeling of the other boy on his lap.

You could say that he enjoyed it. It’s not like he’s ever going to tell you.

**Author's Note:**

> on a scale of one to ten, how much should i die


End file.
